A little "whigged" out...

My dear hubby is color blind and so he insists that I have to pick the tomatoes. I don't understand this theory, because before this year, he has always done it, but since he does everything else, even the canning, I really shouldn't be fussing about picking a few 'maters.

Except for the fact, that there are an awful lot of creepy crawly things in between the plants. I have to get down on my hands and knees (whiney butt strikes again) and crawl down there where the snakes, lizards, bugs, and cow manure is, just to get to the darn juicy, delish, ripe red "fruit of the gods."

I have said before that I am a "city" girl born and raised, so this country living is new to me. Don't get me wrong I love it and I looooove my husband and I would not trade my life for anything else, but when you put me down at eye level with reptiles and rodents, it's not a pretty sight.

Well, today while crawling through the 'mater vines, all of a sudden a lizard ran over my hand. I screeched and came tumbling out of the patch like I had been set on fire. My dear hubby thinks I have been bitten by a snake and goes to catch it in case it is of the poisonous variety and because we might need it to take in for verification of the correct anti-venom serum.

I can't catch my breath for the life of me because of the scare and when he can't find the snake, he comes back over to me and keeps turning my hand and arm over trying to find the bite wounds. It's a wonder he didn't break my arm. I know I will have bruises from his rough handling of my angel wing.

I am by that time so hysterical from laughter that I can't talk and he thinks the venom is already affecting my brain and starts pulling me towards the truck to ride the 25 minutes it takes to get to the nearest hospital.

When I finally catch my breath and tell him what is going on, he gets so pissed at me, he pitches a "Yarbrough" fit right there in front of the shop for God and all the world to see.

Then, of course, my across the street, 85-year-old little neighbor lady comes out to see what all the ruckus is about and thinks we are in the middle of a domestic squabble. She toddles over and asks me if she needs to call the police.

By this time, I am bent over double. My hubby is doing the "King Kong" thing all over the yard and my giggling and snorting with laughter is only adding fuel to the fire. He probably won't speak to me for at least a week.

I guess I need to make my dear one an extra special dinner tonight to make up for all the manure I put him through today. I hope steak will cure him or at least soothe the savage beast. Arrrrrgh!

I am going to go find that lizard and feed him to the buzzards, even if he looks just like GEICO.